Sometimes
by kurtthereisamoment
Summary: Sometimes, suicide can seem like the only option. Sometimes, it takes a stranger to prove that that is not the case at all.
1. Prologue

Everything looks so beautiful when you're about to jump. Your mind's last, desperate- albeit feeble- attempt to pull you back onto the safety of the pavement from which you pushed off to scramble, all limbs, to the concrete wall that frames the body of water. The current does not look strong, but rather intoxicatingly intricate as veins of light reflecting waves dance in the cloud filtered shine from the moon. The urge to jump is stronger here. Enchantingly so.

The serenity of looking down into the unbroken surface is only going to last so much longer. Kurt doesn't imagine jumping into burningly cold water will make him feel as calm and collected as he is now, prepared to stop breathing. The effect of one jump.

He's going to be dragged under, flipped and turned so that even if he does wish to break the surface and take one last gulp of salty air he'll be unable to. He could be ploughed into the concrete edge, possibly even collide with it head on. It would be a quick death, that way. Or it could drag on, leave his lungs burning inside him until finally, he'll go limp and become the water's puppet.

He can still hear Rachel's words ringing between his ears, bouncing around in his brain until the sound blocks out the rippling noise of the wind against him, '_Kurt, everything is going to get so much better, trust me. You've been on the bottom rung for so long, but__ you're going to be right at the top soon. I promise.'_

She's said that in a variant of different words since they were in their junior year of high school. That was when his dad had a heart attack and died in the hospital a few days later. Rachel babbled on about how proud his dad would be of him, and how his parents would watch over him for the rest of his life. He was still too kind, back then, to point out that she was talking utter bollocks.

He was bullied relentlessly after his father passed away, a gay orphan who sang was too great an opportunity to pass up. The worst day was when he returned to school after having a few days off to 'cope'. It wasn't even the guys, that time, which made it worse. Getting beaten up and shoved into lockers and thrown into dumpsters was nothing compared to a group of girls laughing at his tear stained complexion, and following him down the corridors with chants of 'hey, at least daddy doesn't have to lie about loving his gay son anymore', and 'it's not a shock really, did you see how fat he was?'.

The next day, after sobbing into his pillow all night he decided not to take any shit from anyone. Instead of shrugging off his designer jacket to preserve it before being thrown into a dumpster, he fought back with every ounce of strength in his body. He still thinks it was because the jocks were surprised that he managed to get away with it, but Karofsky sported a black eye for the remainder of the week.

Of course, Kurt was called into Principal Figgins' office because violence was not tolerated, as he explained in his thick accent. Kurt was suspended when he argued back, with language that he had never used before. Swear words that felt good as he shouted them, leaning over the wooden desk threateningly.

It was about a month before he was kicked out of school for good for punching Will Shuester in the face.

He never finished high school, never got into a college, never did anything with his life.

He straightens his back and dangles his arms by his sides.

One last deep breath before he jumps, it's cold and crisp and makes his throat burn slightly.

His eyes slide shut, and he bends his knees slightly to jump.

_Mommy, daddy, I'll see you soon._

Swallowing that last little bit of doubt, he leans forward and smiles.

A hand closes around his and pulls him back.

**A/N: I'm thinking of doing an advent type thing, so that each day in December I will upload a oneshot or a chapter of a fic that I'm working on, and I'd just like to know if anyone would be interested in this? This is something I'd like to work on because it's really fun to write, even if it is difficult, and I also have some previously unpublished fic that I'm going to polish up a bit, but if you like the idea and have any prompts for me to consider doing then please do leave them in a review or send them to my Tumblr (kurtthereisamoment).**

**As always, thank you so much for reading, I hope to have something else up soon and reviews make me super happy!**


	2. Chapter One

**A/N: I'm sorry for such a long wait, my exams are now over until may so hopefully I'll have more time to write. Thank you so much for reading!**

Kurt's eyes snap open to look down at his hand.

It's pure shock that causes his body to become pliant to allow someone to tug him down from the concrete. The roaring of the wind returns, and it whips at his clothes as his feet touch the floor where he has been set down.

He looks up to see a boy, about his age, with a tired expression and sad eyes.

"What the hell do you-"

"Just take a step away from the embankment. Please."

Old Kurt, who loves his dad, and loves to sing and dance and watches movie marathons with his girls thinks this boy is perfect, with his hair plastered to his head with gel and a lopsided bow tie, and the decency to save someone's life and his long eyelashes that flutter closed as the wind blows particularly hard.

New Kurt thinks this guy is a fucking nuisance.

"You think you're some modern day Jesus or something? What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

"I-"

"Fuck off."

Kurt turns and places his hands palms down onto the concrete slab which he previously stood on. The boy grips his arms tightly,"Don't you dare."

"Get the hell off me."

"I'm not going to let you jump. I'm not."

Kurt turns, chin up defiantly, "What is it with you then? Charity worker? 'It Gets Better' campaigner? Fairy Godmother?"

"I'm Blaine. I'm just someone that wanted to help."

"How fucking lovely. Why don't you go find someone that wants your help?"

"I'm trying to give it to someone who needs it." Blaine relaxes his grip on Kurt's arm and outstretches it, palm open, "Let me buy you coffee. Just one drink and I'll leave you alone if that's what you really want."

"Why should I get a drink with you?" Kurt wrenches his body away from Blaine's.

"Because I can't live with myself if I walk away from this again." Blaine squeezes his eyes shut for a second, before they focus once again on Kurt, and of course New Kurt doesn't care that swimming in them is regret and hurt, "I know a really nice coffee shop, only a couple of minutes away. One drink."

"I don't go for boys who use butter as a hair product. And I certainly don't go for people who manage to dress like a toddler and grandpa simultaneously."

"Well, I suppose that's okay because I don't go for boys who think that killing themselves is a good idea," Blaine fires back before chewing on his lip and looking worriedly at Kurt, fearing he had overstepped with the delicate issue. Kurt only raises his eyebrows slightly, his lip threatening to quirk upwards on the left side.

Blaine takes a step closer, and winks as he holds his palm up for Kurt to take, "Totally platonic, I promise you."

Kurt frowns, and his nose wrinkles slightly, too childlike for his pained expression.

"If this is the last day of your life, what have you got to lose?" Blaine's hand remains outstretched, and he looks at it meaningfully.

"One drink."

Kurt doesn't take his hand, but he walks beside Blaine, a cautious distance between them.

* * *

"Names?" The barista asks as she sets about making up their coffee order.

Blaine tells her, before turning to Kurt expectantly.

"Kurt," He responds tightly, looking anywhere but Blaine's smiling eyes.

She passes their drinks to them a short while later. Kurt takes his with a slight nod and heads outside to take a seat on the fading brown bench. Blaine follows him out a couple of seconds later after thanking the barista and dropping his change into the tip jar.

"So, Kurt, huh? Is that your real name?" Blaine says as he sits next to Kurt.

"It is." Kurt's voice is clipped as he slides along the bench to put more distance between them.

They are silent for a couple of minutes, Old Kurt is trying to think of something to say that will make this boy laugh so that his eyes crinkle a bit and, an excuse to press himself up against Blaine again so that their thighs touch, or give him his phone number so they can send flirty texts to each other. New Kurt just wants to finish his drink as soon as possible, burning his tongue and throat with every gulp so he can jump- properly this time. He's not even sure why he agreed to this, a drink in the dark with a stranger.

"Please don't go back," Blaine finally says, voice quiet and soft and heartbreakingly desperate.

If Kurt has a heart, that is.

"Why do you even care?" Kurt snaps, fixing Blaine with a fiery glare.

"Because you have no idea at all how much you have to look forward to, and you're just throwing that away."

"That's not what I asked. Why do you care?"

"Everyone should have someone that cares. Everyone _does_ave someone that cares."

"You didn't answer my question." Kurt sniffs, refusing to wrap his arms around himself even though he wants to.

"I don't know how to."

Silence laps over them again, and Kurt nods tightly, his gaze held by a shadow of the bench opposite them, even though he can feel Blaine staring at him.

"What's wrong?" Blaine finally asks.

"Nothing."

The word is clipped and short, but said with no emotion at all, and Kurt doesn't even blink as he says it.

"Look, you can tell me, I'm a total stranger, why would it matter if I know? Talking might help."

"I answered your fucking question. There is nothing wrong, so just fucking _leave it."_

He upturns his coffee and swallows it all, causing Blaine to flinch because his own is still steaming hot and God, that must be burning like hell. If it does hurt him at all, he doesn't show it, tossing the cup into the bin near them with a neutral expression.

"Am I obligated to stay until you finish your drink?"

"I think that depends on if you were raised to be an asshole or not," Blaine tosses back, before he frowns, "Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"Inappropriate is definitely a breath of fresh air." Kurt says, and Blaine is sure that he saw what could have been the beginnings of a smile on Kurt's lips.

"I suppose people always act like they're walking on eggshells around someone with depression," Blaine sighs, "Society can't handle outcasts."

"I haven't got depression."

Seeing Blaine's puzzled expression, he continues, "Why can't someone be sad anymore without being depressed? Just because I don't want to live anymore does not mean that I hate my life, or myself, and it certainly does not mean I need to label myself with a mental illness or any other dumb shit like that and take anti-fucking-depressants to stop being me.

Blaine bites his lip, then opens his mouth and closes it again. After a beat, he speaks, "I didn't mean- I mean- I, um, I hate being labelled too."

"No, you don't. You're one of those 'I'm proud of who I am' bullshitters."

"Yeah, okay, I am. But-"

"Let me guess. You're proud of it?" Kurt deadpans, and Blaine laughs, loud into the whipping wind.

"Okay, so let me rephrase my earlier question: Why are you sad?"

Kurt shifts slightly on his seat, because wouldn't it be nice just to talk and not be judged and to not have to pretend to be happy with how his life turned out. He glances at Blaine, who is pleading with his bright eyes, and maybe Old Kurt is coming to the surface but he's got to talk.

No, it's more than that; he wants to. Now there's a first.

"I wasn't lying when I said I don't hate my life, it's just not going anywhere. I don't have a future; I've got a dead end job with no chance of getting another; I live in a rundown apartment that is one leaky tile away from a tsunami; my parents are both dead and, I don't really have any friends. Even if it could get better, I'm not entirely sure that I would want it to.

"Kurt," Blaine breathes, edging closer.

"I don't even grieve for them anymore. I can't remember my mom at all, just glimpses but I'm not sure if they actually happened at all, and my dad would hate what I am. Everyone expected me to get over it, and I suppose I have, a bit, but now I just feel..."

"Empty?" Blaine supplies.

"Like it's not worth all the bother." Kurt finishes.

Blaine doesn't provide any 'aww, man, that sucks,' or 'I know what that's like,' or any other meaningless comment.

Instead, he questions quietly, "Is there anything that would make it all worthwhile?"

Kurt is suddenly very aware of how close Blaine now is from him, a hair's breadth away from touching. Blaine begs into his ear softly with a 'please, Kurt,' and Kurt can feel his breath skimming along his cheeks and it's so intimate, and he hasn't been this close to another human being for God knows how long, and how has this boy managed to get under his skin in such a short period of time, anyway?

Kurt ducks his head slightly to rub at his cheek with the cuff on his shirt.

Blaine comes to the realization that he doesn't have a clue what he's going in the next few seconds when Kurt stays silent. That he's pretty sure Kurt's now closed off completely, after finally opening up after what he assumes is a few years to a stranger only to have them fight back tears of their own and not do anything to actually help him.

So it's an utter shock when Kurt presses a note in his hand.

"Another coffee."

* * *

Kurt is lost in thought when Blaine presses a hot drink against his unfurled hands. He looks up to give the barest hint of a smile in thanks as Blaine lowers himself back onto the bench.

"What happens after this?" Kurt asks, his thumb flicking at the plastic rim on his cup.

"I don't know. But I know what I want to happen."

When Kurt offers a sideways glance, Blaine carries on, "I want to watch you fall in love with life."

Old Kurt is falling head over heels for this guy, already desperately in need of Blaine's surname so he can decide the arrangement of his name after their inevitable wedding, where his mom and dad will press a kiss to his forehead in pride of their son before he's swept off to dance with his new husband, who whispers into his ear about their future, about the house they're going to decorate together and the pets they'll have at their child's insistence and all the duets they'll sing as the cook together- cookies that will burn as the forget about them in the oven in favor of fighting with the ingredients and kissing, lips tasting of sugar and hair streaked with flour.

But Kurt thinks that taking someone else's name is pathetic and outdated, his parents are dead, he hasn't danced in years and he can't stand children or animals.

And don't even get him started on singing. There's a reason Kurt hasn't listened to a radio in years. Namely, Katy Perry, who probably should have given up with her first crappy auto-tuned album, instead of carrying on in the hope that maybe one day she'll be able to hit a note.

"I'm afraid you'll be disappointed."

Blaine nods sadly, knowing he's run out of luck, and Kurt has shut down in the three minutes it took for him to get the drinks. He licks his lips before speaking again, he voice surprisingly steady, "Are you going back?"

"I have no doubt that once we part ways one of us will be jumping into that water. And I don't think it's going to be you."

"I guess I'll be keeping you company for a while then."

**A/N: Please let me know what you think of this chapter, more (hopefully) on the way soon!**


End file.
